Home Improvement
by bibliotech
Summary: Complete and utter crackfic. John makes an effort Rodney tries to adjust.


They weren't exactly living together, really. They had a system where they tried not to be too blatant about their incredibly gay, high-volume sex relationship, and everyone else tried very hard to pretend that it didn't exist. So far, it seemed to be working, even though John tended to spend days at a time in Rodney's quarters before wandering back to his own for a change of socks. So Rodney figured that John's--tendencies--went unnoticed only because he hadn't had a chance to see them up close and personal.

But when he came home and found _gauze_ draped over all the lamps, he realized that he had a problem.

"I thought they looked nice," John said, slouching down in his chair. "They gave the room an air."

"An air?" Rodney plucked an offending scarf off a desk lamp, eyeing it suspiciously. "What does that even _mean_?"

John sighed--that deep, put-upon sound that meant that he suffered so much just by being in the same room as a certain Rodney McKay. "It means," he said patiently, "that the room needed more--personality. I was just trying to help."

Rodney blinked. "Since when do rooms have personality?"

John sighed again. "I'm going to go visit Teyla," he said. "Maybe she'll have some ideas."

"And maybe she'll beat some sense into you," Rodney muttered, pulling scarves off various light fixtures.

"Don't wrinkle that mauve one," John said, crossing his arms. "That one's silk."

"_Mauve_?" Rodney asked with disbelief.

* * *

"John," Rodney said carefully, reaching out for John's hands and looking into his eyes, "tell me the truth. I won't be mad, I promise. Are you _trying_ to kill me?"

John glared at him. "So I'm guessing you don't like the candles _either_."

Rodney sneezed again--for the fifteenth or sixteenth time since he'd come home; he was losing count. "Oh, no. They're great. I love that all of my clothes are going to smell like Mountain Rain now. Really. Especially since I seem to be _allergic_ to the type of rain that falls from _mountains._"

"Next time, I'll get the non-allergenic ones," John said, patting Rodney on the shoulder. "Maybe something summery, to go with the curtains."

He didn't want to ask, he really didn't, but-- "What curtains?"

John beamed. "You'll see."

Rodney tried to kill him with a look, but sneezed instead.

* * *

"Can't you just--I don't know, beat some of the gay out of him?"

Ronon shrugged. "He's expressing himself. I think it's good for him. He's too uptight."

Rodney stared at him. "Too uptight? He's rearranging my office because he says the feng shui is off. He wants my office to be _spiritually aligned_. I don't even know what that _means_!"

"You should be flattered that he takes such an interest in your well-being, Rodney," Teyla said, reaching over to pat his hand. He was 99 sure that on the inside, Teyla was laughing her ass off about this.

"He has all these pillows on the bed, but I'm not allowed to sleep on them," Rodney said mournfully. "What good are pillows if they're not for sleeping?"

"You did not like the pillows?" Teyla frowned, pulling her hand away. "I helped him with the selection."

Rodney just pushed his tray towards Ronon. This was too bad for pudding to fix.

* * *

"What's that smell?" Zelenka sniffed the air, ineffectively waving a hand in front of his face. "It smells like a greenhouse."

Rodney mumbled something into his coffee cup.

"What was that about the summer?"

"Don't you have _work_ to do?"

* * *

"So my bedroom's full of blankets and pillows that I'm not allowed to touch, and my office is full of weird aroma--somethings that make it smell like a botanist exploded in there, and he just found a book of something called fabric swatches, and I don't know what those are, but I'm _scared_." Rodney gave Carson a pleading look. "Can't you _do_ something about him? I don't know, a brain scan? Quarantine? Hypnotism?"

Carson bit his lip, struggling to keep the smile off his face. "Hypnotism, Rodney?"

"Yeah, something like you snap your fingers, and he's never allowed to say that turquoise brings out the color of my eyes."

"Well, I suppose he has a poin--"

"Shut up!"

* * *

"I cannot believe you," Rodney grumbled, throwing a shirt at John. "Whatever happened to trading for food and shiny new technology?"

"Those aren't the _only_ things we need, Rodney," John said patiently. "And besides, it's about establishing good trade relations as well."

"Yes, because the planet of the primitive fashion houses will be _so_ beneficial as an ally. What was I thinking?" He grabbed a bundle of almost-cashmere, using it for a pillow. John was carefully sorting out each bundle, dividing them by color and texture.

John smiled at Rodney over his shoulder. "I got this one just for you." He tossed a dark blue shirt in Rodney's direction. It was sweaterlike, but looked less itchy.

Rodney picked it up reluctantly, giving John a dirty look. "I'll wear it, but only under protest."

"You're welcome," John said loudly, followed by, "Don't throw those! Do you have any idea how much those--_Rodney_!"

* * *

Sometimes Rodney would deliberately rearrange the pillows when John was away. He'd move the office candles to the bedroom, and the bedroom candles to the bathroom. Then he'd go through all the drawers and mix one white sock in with all the black socks. The finishing touch was painstakingly moving each piece of furniture two inches to the left.

It took John a few minutes to notice it, but when he did, there was a lot of incoherent screaming. That was the best part.

* * *

"Why can't you just enjoy it?" Elizabeth asked in her _I always end up having to be the sensible one_ voice. "I saw what your place looked like before John took an interest in it. It was...interesting." She gave a delicate shudder.

"And I knew where everything was, and nothing smelled like mountains or summers or breezes and it had _plenty _of personality!" Rodney crossed his arms, glaring at her. "It was overflowing with personality, and now it has the personality of a very fussy, very clean person who organizes his _underwear_. Can't anyone see that this is a very bad thing?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Your socks match a lot more than they used to, Rodney."

Rodney frowned. "My socks didn't match?"

"See?"

* * *

Sometimes Rodney felt as if Atlantis was full of women. Evil, sadistic women that let out girly squeals of joy over the thought of trading sweaters and the best way to artfully tousle their hair. John barely had enough hair to tousle--how in the i hell /i was he an expert on touseling?

"You seem very...vehement about this, Rodney." Kate just shook her head and gave him that enigmatic smile. She and Teyla probably got together and practiced ways to show moral superiority just by raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not _vehement_," Rodney said vehemently. "I'm _determined._ And _male._ Does no one appreciate that fact? That John is an interior decorator trapped in a man's body?"

"So do you think that his interest in design is too feminine?"

"Nonononono." Rodney held up a finger. "You're not going to trick me into saying I'm against womens' rights or anything like that. Just because John is a big girl doesn't mean that I'm against girls or anything."

Kate's smile grew wider. "Rodney, I think we know where you stand when it comes to women."

He glared. "Oh, you're all just _so _funny."

* * *

"Do you really not like the blankets?" John's voice was muffled by Rodney's shoulder. They were wrapped up in something that looked like it fell off a diseased yak, but felt like...well, something better than a diseased yak.

"No, they're...different." Rodney yawned, pulling one end of the yakskinthing over his head. "You know, I really should've guessed it from the hair. The hair was a dead giveaway."

"Very funny, McKay." John pinched his arm, just to let him know who was boss.

"Really, the amount of hair gel you use could probably grease the floors of the entire city."

"Why would we grease the floors with hair gel?"

"To stop you from rubbing it all into your hair?"

Another pinch. "Behave, or I'll put potpourri into your underwear drawer."

Rodney froze. "You wouldn't."

"Maybe some vanilla...and lavender. That would be good." John's voice was fading, his arms loose around Rodney's waist. "A little cinnamon for effect."

"I _hate_ you," Rodney mumbled, pulling John closer as he closed his eyes. The yak-whatever was surprisingly comfortable, but he'd die before admitting it.


End file.
